No One Else
by The Darkness Factor
Summary: "This isn't really how I wanted this to go," Natasha starts, then makes a face, like her own words bother her.


**A/N:** I answered a couple more prompts on Tumblr. This one is brucenat + "you're the only one I trust to do this".

Uh... prepare for angst. At least, that's what people on Tumblr seemed to be screaming at me about. Enjoy!

* * *

He knows something's wrong the minute he opens the door.

There are no outward signs. The door hasn't been forced. The windows are closed and locked, just the way he left them. Nothing is out of place. Bruce has spent a long time on the run, though, and there's always a feeling he gets. A warning, maybe, a tension between his shoulder blades that screams for him to bolt. He doesn't, this time. Aside from his little cottage, there is no one out here; let them try to hurt him.

He pushes that dark thought out of the way and shuts the door behind him, waiting for something. Maybe somebody will leap out of the dark and shove a drugged cloth over his nose and mouth (not that the Other Guy will respond any better to that than to a knock on the head). Maybe some other unnamed demon will attempt to kill or capture him. He waits, and nothing jumps out of the dark, and so he takes a few more steps.

He pauses just before looking through the entrance to his tiny kitchen, danger sense spiking. The Other Guy notices. Waits, it seems, maybe even holds his breath along with him.

When he looks through the door he almost jumps because it might as well be a demon looking at him. Then he realizes -

"Shit."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

Natasha's voice is a barely recognizable croak, like sandpaper rubbing against itself. One of her eyes is shut and crusted over with blood; there's a thin laceration just above her eyebrow, next to an ugly black bruise. He dimly registers that her hair's gotten longer, and darker, and that she's dressed in civilian clothing.

"This isn't really how I wanted this to go," Natasha starts, then makes a face, like her own words bother her.

"I'll get the first-aid - "

"No." Her voice is sharper now; she leans forward in her seat, like she's tempted to lunge towards him, but stops herself. Bruce waits, his danger sense heightening again. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I'm sorry - we couldn't do it."

"What?"

"We couldn't protect you."

Ice works its way into his veins. "I'm not really someone who needs - "

"Shut up for two seconds." Natasha pulls herself into a standing position, and this time it's Bruce's turn to stop himself from reaching out. Her side is blood-coated, though from what he doesn't know. She clearly doesn't want to give him time to inspect the wound. He remembers the smell of antiseptic and her laugh and feeling safe with her, a while ago, and aches.

It takes him a few moments to realize that she's stepped forward, and that she's pressed something into his palm. He looks down at a nondescript flashdrive, then back up at her.

"What is this?"

Natasha shakes her head. "Probably better if you don't know. Just… they don't know where you are yet, but they'll find me eventually. I'm normally a professional, but covering my tracks is kind of hard when I'm bleeding out."

"Natasha - "

"Take it and run. And keep running."

"Natasha, what - "

She staggers momentarily, but puts a hand up when he tries to support her, propping herself up on the counter. "Don't worry about me, I'll get out of here just fine. Please. You need to go."

"What's going on?"

Her smile makes him wince. "You don't watch a whole lot of news nowadays, do you? Do whatever you want with that, just keep running. You're the only one I trust to do this. Fucking swallow it for all I care."

He's torn between the mad desire to laugh at her callback, and the desire to reach out again. Desire number two wins, against his better judgment, but her hand is on his shoulder, gently pushing him away. She's about ready to collapse, he sees that now. He can barely process that he's seeing her again for the first time after… everything, and she's acting like this might be the last time, what - ?

But her eyes hold his, willing him, pleading with him to understand, and he does.

It's the hardest thing he's ever had to do, but he turns around. He pretends not to hear the thud of her collapsing on his way out.

* * *

Two weeks later, he's in a hotel in Singapore. He's watching grainy footage of the Black Widow, being held captive (wounds untreated, it seems) by the U.S. military. 'Enhanced interrogation' was employed to try to uncover 'vital intelligence' in hunting down the other Superhumans (Steve, Sam, the Maximoff girl, god, what has happened?). They aren't successful, but they'll try again.

Bruce turns off the TV, keeps himself from throwing the remote at the wall, and cries.


End file.
